After getting away from his cruel father's tyranny, Randall has to learn how to live again, and accept the person he was meant to be - with a little help of a local bartender...
*****
An empty shell is all what is left of twenty-five-yea...
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-Randall-
I felt like shit the next morning. At first, I wasn't even sure why, but when I tried to scratch my temple, and felt the bandages, I remembered what I'd nearly done last night. I stopped to stare at the ceiling, my head quiet for once. My eyes felt like they were covered in sand. So did my throat.
But suddenly, I wanted to throw up when I remembered crying like an ugly bitch, and the feeling grew worse when I thought about Cole. He'd seen it all. I'd cried like a fucking baby right in front of him.
Somehow, I managed to get out of bed. I wished I wouldn't find Cole in my apartment when I stepped out of my bedroom, but that wish didn't come true. He was there, sleeping on my couch. I stopped to stare at him.
"No! I'm done with you! All of you!"
I suddenly couldn't get any air into my lungs. I... almost killed myself. I'd held the knife... If Cole hadn't stopped me... And I was disgusted because I cried in front of him. I almost killed myself and my first instinct was to hate myself for crying... I felt sick. Sick and scared.
What the fuck was wrong with me...?
"Cole...?" I muttered.
He flinched awake and turned to look at me. For a second, he seemed confused, but after he pulled a hand over his face to wake up, he smiled at me.
"Hey," his voice was gentle as he got up. "How are you feeling?"
I didn't answer him. I could only stand there and watch him. He stopped in front of me and gave me a careful glance. Part of me still wanted him to go, to leave me alone, but I... I didn't want to be left alone. I couldn't stand the idea of having to be alone. I was too afraid of myself.
And I didn't know what to do. What was I supposed to do now...? Eat breakfast? Like I didn't try to end my own life last night? Act like it was just a small hiccup and move on? I felt so lost... Lost and numb and so fucking scared of myself, scared of how easily I'd pointed the knife to my stomach...
"Let's take it easy today, okay?" he spoke gently. "I already messaged Jonah, my psychologist. He'll get back to me once he's cleared up his schedule for you."
Psychologist...? Again, my first instinct was to get angry at him. I didn't need a shrink. I didn't need his help. I didn't... I didn't want to talk about what happened. But of course I needed it... I almost fucking died last night by my own fucking hand. Why was I angry at the only man who was trying to help me?
I was scaring myself so much...
"I want this to end," I whispered.
"I need you to be strong for me for a little while longer," he said, carefully touching my arm. His touch was short, but his warmth lingered... "You don't have to deal with this alone anymore."
